


Dirty Dreams and Drifting Digits

by Iolite666



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: AU, M/M, Masturbation, Parent/Child Incest, Wet Dream, actually it seems like there may be some plot, but not loads i havent planned this at all, denial isnt just a river in egypt haytham, depends on real life not being a dick, just admit it youre thirsty af, saying this so i can ignore canon for reasons of i didnt like it, there is now a loose plot so, theres no real interactions yet but thatll probably change, theres still porn tho, this will probably be multipchapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:18:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9859763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolite666/pseuds/Iolite666
Summary: Due to unfortunate circumstances, Haytham and Connor are forced to sleep in very close quarters, and Connor's overactive imagination carries into his dreams. Witness to his son's drowsing desires, a flustered but undeniably aroused Haytham deals with an issue caused by Connor's vocal emissions into the night. Later, Haytham has to deal with the residual awkwardness from the night before and the weighing knowledge that his desires may not be completely rejected by his son. Find me on Tumblr at asscreedfan!





	1. Dirty Dreams

Haytham sighed. He’d been having a hard enough time getting sleep lately without the added distraction of sleeping next to an assassin in a makeshift cover in the middle of the woods. It certainly did not help that said assassin snored. Furthermore, the insufferable boy constantly shifted in his sleep, as if under assault by some imaginary creature of his mind’s design. Truly annoying. So why on earth did he find his son’s shifting and occasional snuffling in his sleep, dare he say, cute? The boy seemed much smaller when asleep, with no angered frown marring his face or defensive position hiking up his shoulders and tensing his muscles. 

Finally, the boy seemed to settle down. Only, there was one tiny problem. Haytham couldn’t move. He couldn’t move because his son, one of the most fearsome assassin’s of the recently resurrected brotherhood, had turned towards him and had managed to wrap his arms and legs around Haytham’s person. As if it wasn’t bad enough, it was the height of the summer and thus, Haytham could not sleep if he wanted to. He was simply too damn hot. He instantly counted out the idea of extracting himself from Connor’s arms as that would just wake his son and make him even more difficult to deal with in the morning than he usually is. But the matter remained, he couldn’t move away from Connor, but he feasibly could not sleep like this. Haytham eventually resigned himself to being overly warm and crowded and settled down to attempt to get a modicum of sleep when everything spiraled down to hell. Connor’s shifting had increased, and he had managed to get even closer to Haytham, stifling him even further. Haytham growled, fed up with trying to keep the peace between them and attempted to push away from his son, only to freeze in shock when Connor let out the slightest of moans, his body twisting and turning even further. At first Haytham thought his son to be in pain, perhaps suffering from a nightmare, or anything other than what was now the obvious conclusion. His son was having a wet dream. Whilst pushing against him. Oh dear lord. He could feel the evidence of Connor’s midnight fantasies against his thigh as the boy began pushing insistently against him. 

Haytham rolled over, intent on ignoring the whims of his son’s mind and going to sleep as soon as possible. Unfortunately, at that time, Connor decided to further cage Haytham against his body, pressing his front up against Haytham’s back, whilst still occasionally moaning and whimpering. Grimacing at the feeling of Connor’s clothed bulge pressing against the small of his back, Haytham resolutely refused to acknowledge just how nice Connor’s whimpering breaths felt fanning over the junction of his neck and shoulder, just as he ignored the twitch his cock gave at Connor’s constant rocking movements against his back. What was wrong with him? This was his son that was bucking against him in the throes of passion, not some random prostitute or one of the other templars drunk off their mind. He couldn’t allow this to continue under any circumstances. Haytham steeled his nerves and got ready t break out of Connor’s grasp, only to lose all motivation as a keening “Fatheeeeer…” reached his ears. 

Haytham choked on air, and furrowed his brows disbelievingly. Surely not…? The boy was panting now, no sign of his name or him being called father upon those lips, perhaps this was his punishment for his multitude of crimes. A life condemned to chasing and, unfortunately, lusting after his own son, so much so to hallucinate that the boy called upon him in his fevered dreams. Haytham sighed once more, feeling exceedingly bitter and old for his age. What could he honestly do? He was lusting after a man less than half his age, and his son no less. He remained lost in thought until another buck of Connor’s hips and a whine of his name snapped him out of his self-loathing long enough to register what had just happened. There was no way he could deny it now; Connor had moaned his name whilst dreaming and rubbing up against his ass.

Oh… The spark of arousal that shot through him at that realisation felt almost unreal, his cock hardening almost instantly, straining against his underwear and breeches. The sweet friction of Connor’s cock against his ass felt so good, he didn’t want it to stop for anything. Except, perhaps, for Connor to awaken and realise his desire, but that would never happen in their current circumstances. Suddenly, Connor moaned startlingly loud, and pushed his hips against Haytham one, two, three final times as his cock spurted in his worn breeches, a wet patch forming on the front.

Stifling his own deep moan, Haytham shifted his thighs, attempting to relieve some of the pressure on his unbearably hard cock. To his frustration, this did nothing but give a tantalising taste of the friction that he truly wanted upon his person. Cursing under his breath, he managed to free one of his arms from Connor’s orgasm loosened grip to rub over the front of his breeches. He bit his lip, realising that if he woke Connor now whilst getting himself off, there would be a lot of tension and awkwardness between them that they just didn’t need to add to their already strained relationship.

Shifting minutely, he pressed his hand against his cock, whining lowly at the frissons of pleasure darting up and down his spine. God, it had been ages since he’d been so… wound up. He’d never let it get this bad, let alone when in the company of another person. Circling his fingers around his tip, Haytham barely managed to hold back a loud moan that would’ve surely woken Connor. God, he was so sensitive it nearly hurt; what had the boy done to him? Haytham knew it wasn’t Connor’s fault, it was his own, but such a realisation did nothing to curb his now rampant arousal. In his pleasure fueled musing he couldn’t help but think back to how sweetly Connor had moaned his name, as if it were the only thing that mattered to him.

He imagined Connor flushed, panting beneath him, sweetly begging for more, harder, faster, and oh how he would give it to him. Or, perhaps, Connor would give it to him, hard and powerful and make him ache. God, he wanted that so bad, just thinking about it made him moan as loud as he dared, the low keening sound strangled as it escaped his throat. God, but he was so close, his cock was twitching and leaking into his underwear, his sticky pre cum beginning to form a wet patch on his breeches. Whining constantly under his breath, Haytham began bucking his hips, he was so so close! His world whited out, his ears ringing as pleasure rocketed through his body, his cock spurted, cum spilling out into his clothing, and his voice nearly cracked as he keened in ultimate pleasure. His orgasm continued to wash over him in powerful waves, leaving him gasping for breath as his cock weakly dribbled the last of its load. Coming down from the high, Haytham heavily breathed out and drew his hand away from the front of his breeches which were heavily stained with the evidence of his release, which was quickly becoming clammy against his skin. As Connor had not deigned to let him go yet, he could not escape to wash off, and so he resigned himself to being awkwardly sticky and dirty as he washed up in the morning. 

As the last vestiges of residual pleasure fled his system, the reality of the situation crashed into his mind. He desired his son in a sexual manner and from the events of tonight, it seemed that his feelings were somewhat reciprocated, even if they were subconscious. Well, he would simply need to, ahem, experiment with certain courses of action and his son’s reactions to ascertain how opposed (or not, perhaps) his son was to these feelings. Either way, there was nothing he could do at this point in time, short of waking Connor right now and announcing that he desired the lad, and he was not about to do that any time soon. Sleep slowly and reluctantly claimed him, much like it did every night. However, the important difference this time around is that, even though not by whom he thought would do so, he was being held in a comfortingly warm embrace. His last thought as he fell asleep was him wondering whether Connor would like it if he pulled his long, silky hair.


	2. Drifting Digits... Almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haytham and Connor dance around one another as they prepare to set off for New York. In doing so, they are nearly caught by the other for their appreciative glances and wandering hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just gonna say there is a pretty detailed bit on skinning a wolf towards the end of the chapter. it isnt a long scene, and it isnt overtly violent, but there is mention of skinning practices and blood, hence the update on the warnings. other than that, enjoy yall!

The sun rose, lazy and languid as dawn broke over the forest they were staying in, a true testament to how the world moved on without them and how it didn’t care for their actions or desires. Yet, still, a film of guilt hung over Haytham’s mind as he awoke. He had, effectively, taken advantage of his son without the boy knowing it, and that realisation sat heavy in the pit of his stomach. He felt nauseous.

Extracting himself from Connor’s now loose grip and stumbling out of their makeshift shelter, he grimaced and the dry, crusting feeling within his underwear. Resolving himself to finding a decent place to wash off, he grabbed his usual attire and set off in search of a decently clean river. After trudging through the undergrowth for a few minutes, Haytham came across a clearing with a blessedly clear river running through it. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any soap on hand, meaning he could only clean himself in the most rudimentary way, however it was better than walking around with dried semen clinging to his clothes and skin. 

Casting his gaze around for any potential predators, human or otherwise, Haytham set down the clothes he planned on wearing and carefully began to strip his nightclothes from his body, hands fumbling with buttons in the morning cold and mist. He knew that the water would be utterly freezing, and yet he didn’t care, his mind too preoccupied with the situation he had managed to get himself in to with his son. Albeit, Connor didn’t know what he did, and neither did he know that he was the cause of his father’s confusion. Hopefully, a potentially partnership breaking discussion or argument would not take place if he simply ignored the new layer to their relationship. Hissing as he lowered his now naked body into the stream, he began to clean himself with a thin worn rag that he had managed to gather from their rushed camp. Even though his legs felt as if they were quickly going numb, it felt unimaginably good to clean himself after sleeping without being able to wash up. 

Back at camp, a well slept Connor awoke with a jaw-cracking yawn and a very pleasurable stretch that soon stopped short at feeling the mess within his pants. Oh. Not again. Then he remembered that he had slept next to his father and groaned in embarrassment. He seriously hoped that he hadn’t let slip any embarrassing noises, or god forbid, anything incriminating regarding just how he felt for the other. He knew it was wrong, or viewed as wrong in society for a man to love another man, but it was undeniably wrong for a son to lust after their own father, surely. But the man’s appearance teased him so, especially in the way his face was flushed from the cold when he had rescued him from the bandits in the woods recently. He just looked so appealing, bound on his knees and breathing heavily from the adrenaline of the situation.

Shaking his head, Connor reluctantly stands up and stretches, before leaving the shelter, only to discover that his father was nowhere to be found. However, there were footprints in the damp forest floor leading north; perhaps he had gone to wash up or to hunt or gather food. Either way, Haytham would soon return, so it was of no concern to him what the older man was currently doing. However, he really needed to wash up after last night’s… fantasies, as they had left evidence in his underwear which was now very uncomfortable to walk with. He decided that he could go up north to the stream that he had scouted out before choosing to set up camp in this particular location and wash himself before Haytham returned. 

Pulling on his moccasins and gathering his robes, Connor quickly walked down to the stream only to stop in wonderment at the sight he was greeted with. His father was in the stream, gloriously naked, and hadn’t noticed his presence yet. This both pleased and annoyed Connor as Haytham was usually much more observant, and yet he felt that he wanted this moment of peace before his father would once again start with his sarcasm and scathing remarks concerning everything he did.

Mmmm, but his father looked so enticing like this, wet skin glistening in the weak morning sun. His hair looked ridiculously soft, and Connor wanted nothing more than to run his hands through it, perhaps pull and tug on it to see how his father reacted. Would he like it? Would he want more and moan for him? His cock twitched at the thought and Connor grimaced, he really didn’t need this now, in the open woods near his father of all places. He supposed he could… take care of it without Haytham noticing if he was quiet. Biting his lip in anticipation, Connor slowly sneaks his hand down the front of his nightclothes, just managed to brush the ever so slightly tenting front of his breeches before his father’s deep voice rang throughout the clearing.

“I know you’re there Connor, though what you gain from skulking around like a wild animal I do not know.”

Connor’s breath caught in his throat, sweat breaking out on his brow. Had Haytham seen him about to pleasure himself? He sincerely hoped not, as his father would most likely either abandon him out of disgust, or get him arrested for showing attraction to other men, especially his father. Shit, this wasn’t good. He had so much to do for the brotherhood, so much to aspire for and so much to teach his new recruits. He couldn’t go to prison and be executed, not without someone to free him!

“Well, boy, are you going to stop lurking and get washed up? We need to be in New York soon, and the British will not wait for you to get washed in the morning.”

Either Haytham hadn’t noticed, or had resolutely ignored what he had been doing. Either way, it worked for him as he stepped out from the trees, and answered his father.

“I know that, I just didn’t want to disturb you whilst you were washing is all.” As he said this, he lay his clothes down and began to strip, first pulling his shirt over his head and laying it down on the grass next to the stream. Next came his, ah, conspicuously stained trousers. He sincerely hoped Haytham waved it off as mere teenage fantasy and didn’t ask any questions, nor tease him for what was simple biology. Luckily, his father turned away to give him a semblance of privacy, allowing Connor to step into the stream, wincing at the cold temperature. Almost immediately, Connor began washing, desperate to get away from his father, as the man’s nudity was beginning to affect him in ways that didn’t wholly surprise him, but dismayed him still. Seeing his father, wet and naked as the day he was born aroused him so much that it was becoming difficult to not let his body react how it wanted by letting blood rush to his face and down south at the same time. As if sensing his reluctance, his father turned and inquired as to why he was rushing so.

“Son, you do know that you needn’t scrub your skin raw in order to clean? Although, with all the dirt and god knows what else you get on you daily, you probably have to. Do try to not damage yourself, I will not tolerate needless whining throughout the day due to your haste.”

Scowling at his father, Connor refused to answer him, only marginally slowing his cleaning of his body in response. In all truth, his father’s scathing attitude did nothing to deter Connor’s body, and, unfortunately, his heart from deciding that they wanted the man. In fact, it made him want his father more, made him want to get through the thick walls that Haytham erected around his emotions and persons, and get to know the true Haytham Kenway within. Admittedly, this made him more reluctant to dismiss his father’s opinions and arguments than he should have been, considering that he was well on the way to being the sole mentor of the colonial brotherhood, and that Haytham was the grand-master of the colonial Templar rite. 

Still, in the face of Haytham’s annoyance, Connor’s traitorous body didn’t back down one inch, stubbornly fixating on how his father’s hair darkened in the water, or how the droplets cascaded down his pale skin. In the end he had to turn away, lest the other look down momentarily and see his son’s rather inexplicable erection. Getting out of the stream was an even more awkward affair, and it resulted in Connor having to tell Haytham to look away as he dressed and adjusted himself the best he could. Haytham merely responded with an irritated huff, and grumpily turned the other way.

When they had both fully dressed in their clothes and had equipped their ever present hidden blades, their attention was drawn by a high-pitched pained whinny from the direction of their camp. Looking at each other for merely seconds, they took off towards their camp, hoping that one of the mares and merely became spooked by something in the woods and someone hadn’t come across their humble settlement. The sight that greeted them was not welcome at all, one of the horses was badly injured, blood leaking from a large bite wound on its side as its breathing grew increasingly more laboured. However, what immediately drew their attention were the three snarling wolves slowly advancing in their direction with their hackles raised in aggression. 

Before they could even think as to how to retrieve any of their weapons, one wolf launched itself at Haytham, intent on making a meal out of him. The animal connected with Haytham roughly, and only desisted in its attempts to kill him when the cold steel of the grand master’s hidden blade silenced it with a swift motion against its throat. Quickly getting to his feet, Haytham goaded the one of the wolves to attack, signalling to his son that he do the same. The wolves were dispatched with very little harm coming to the both of them, Haytham only suffering small lacerations to his face and slight tears in his overcoat, whereas Connor’s arm felt a little tender after the wolf he had targeted brought its weight down upon it. 

“Father, we could skin the wolves and use their meat and fur to sustain us, should we need to spend another night in the woods.” As he said this, Connor walked to the makeshift shelter they had created, and retrieved his skinning knife from within without waiting for permission. Just as he put his knife to the front paw of the animal, his father spoke up. 

“I don’t suppose you happen to have two skinning knives on you? I have throwing knives, but I fear they will not be sharp enough for this task.”

“Yes, I do as I always carry a spare. It should be next to the area where we slept this morning.”

Haytham thanked Connor offhandedly as he began searching their sleeping area, eventually coming across what looked to be a decently sized butcher’s knife, the blade long and sharp, and strongly embedded in the wooden handle. Returning to Connor, he watched as his son checked the beast for any large wounds. He knew how to skin a wolf, but he had not done so in a while, and felt that watching his son go about something that must be second nature to him was the best way to familiarise himself with the actions required. Gazing over at the injured mare, Haytham realised that there would no way to save the beast, and promptly informed Connor. The boy’s gaze glazed over in sadness for a split second, before he got to business in monopolising their encounter. 

Connor lifted the wolf, turning it on its side, and gripped the front paw. Placing his blade tip up behind the main pad, he began making a large cut all the way up the back of the leg, up to where the limb joined the rest of the body. Blood soon began to spill out of the large wound onto the forest floor, and onto the sleeves of his assassin robes, staining them the dark red that was so often present on them. He repeated this cut on the other front leg, wincing as more blood spilt onto his robes. This would be near impossible to clean out before they reached New York. 

He then slides the knife between the hide and the skin itself, beginning to detach the membranes from each other and remove the fur from the wolf’s body, being careful not to force the knife too far, lest he damage the hide. He intended on selling these after they served their use in their journey to New York. He pulled the hide away from the body enough to pull it over the first join in the leg, and then began skinning the toes, making sure to cut at the last knuckle of each. They really didn’t have the time to be careful in skinning these animals, but he still wanted the hides in decent condition for use and profit. 

As soon as he skinned the front legs, the rest of the animal came relatively easy, even with copious amounts of blood spilling from the now cooling corpse at each incision he made. Eventually, the main body of the hide was separating from the animal’s skin, and Connor noted what he needed to do in order to make the meat on the animal suitable for consumption. Firstly he would need to attempt to clean it the best he could, and then salt it to preserve the meat, It wasn’t preferable to eat wolf meat, due to their diet and the sheer amount of parasites and diseases they carried, but it would do in a pinch to keep the meat in store. 

After he completed skinning and dividing the corpse of the wolf, he began to help his father work on the second wolf, and eventually, the third. Finishing up they packed what they had salvaged from the corpses, and began to load their meagre belongings onto their only remaining mare. Due to the extra added weight of both all of their belongings and both of them on the horse’s back their journey to New York would be slower than anticipated.

“Father, who is going to take the reins of the horse?” Connor asked, his head tilted in thought, looking at the mare as if seeing it again for the first time. With a start, Haytham realised that Connor was wondering if the beast could take all of their belongings and them on top of it.

“I suppose we can take turns in guiding the beast, and take frequent breaks in order to let it rest and recuperate. It will take longer to reach New York this way, but we won’t have to walk due to killing our mare out of exhaustion.” Connor nodded, seemingly satisfied with Haytham's’ plan, and checked that they had gathered everything. Meanwhile, Haytham stood still, seeing Connor through different eyes at his methodical dissection and skinning of the animal. The blood that stained his person was now dry, and whilst it didn’t appeal to his admittedly more delicate sensibilities that Connor wouldn’t be able to clean up for a while, the sight stirred something primal within him, and lust began to kindle in his stomach, his cheeks warming at the brutal image Connor exuded. 

“Do you wish to take the reins first, Connor?” Connor simply nodded in affirmation, and swung himself up onto the beast’s back, gathering the reins taught in his hands. As Haytham climbed up and settled down behind his son, he realised that the way the animal moved would cause him to rub up against his son’s back with near enough every step. Gulping inaudibly, Haytham tried to angle his groin away from his deliciously tempting son, knowing that the long periods of time were he would be further back on the ride would be torture.

As the first tantalising feeling of friction and pressure on his crotch began to tingle up his spine as Connor motioned the horse into movement, Haytham knew that this particular ride to New York would be very long indeed. When he got back, he would procure a room in the Green Dragon as soon as possible and begin to catch up on the paperwork he undoubtedly had waiting for him, as well as deal with a worried Charles that would be all over him the moment he set foot within range of vision of the man. Yes, this was going to be a very, very long ride.


	3. Unforeseen Complication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Haytham arrive in New York, parting on less than friendly terms. Haytham meets with his associates, whilst Connor attempts to explain his actions to his mentor.

Upon arriving in New York, Haytham and Connor had found the nearest stable to store their horse whilst they went about their business. The argument between them concerning what they should do in regards to their current relationship and situation had nearly come to blows, and both men were still bitter over their disagreements, despite coming to a compromise. They had both felt it necessary to get space away from the other, but did not trust in the other to not go about business that would be detrimental to either of their courses. After a fiery debate, they had come to the conclusion that even if they promised they wouldn’t go about their respective assassin or templar business, they would do it secretly as each cause needed a lot of attention from both Haytham and Connor.

As they stabled the mare, they said nothing to each other, still feeling the residual awkwardness hanging over from their argument as if it were an unshakeable hangover. 

“Father?” came Connor’s sheepish inquiry, his hand fiddling with the front of his robes.

Haytham merely raised his eyebrow at the boy, as if to say ‘Well, speak?’

“How long do we intend to stay in New York?”

“For however long the business I am conducting takes, Connor.”

At this vague answer, Connor bristled. He may not want (not for personal reasons anyways) to know what his father was doing at every given moment of the day (or days), but he still hated being talked down to as if Haytham thought of him as a mere child, not worthy of his attention. The thought of this caused something painful to pang in Connor’s chest, a something that he resolutely ignored even though it ached away in the back of his mind. 

“And how long is that?” Connor scowled, “I do not have much time to be waiting on your beck and call, father.” Connor enunciated the word as if it were venom, or something equally distasteful, his scorn at Haytham not so easily buried after their argument.

“Well, jump around in the trees, or run amok like an animal, or whatever you assassins do these days. It does not really concern me, I will call upon you when I have found a lead to our investigation into Church, and you may do the same.” Haytham turned towards Connor fully, noting the boy’s tense posture and hunched shoulders. He decided that it was wise to end this conversation before things spiralled out of control once more and devolved into another baseless fight. “For now, I shall take my leave and so shall you; farewell Connor.”

Haytham strode down the street away from the stable, leaving a stunned yet irritated Connor standing looking at his retreating back. Despite his anger, Connor couldn’t help but stop and stare as Haytham’s clothing shifted around his body, and found himself doing so until the other man disappeared into the crowds further down. Shaking his head, he double checked the mare was tied up safe and had enough food, before he began the trek across New York to reach all of his assassins. 

Nearing the inn that the templars had agreed to meet up in, Haytham finally allowed himself to sigh. He knew he was in the wrong, and he had been to harsh on Connor back when they were approaching New York, and yet again it seemed that he had managed to rile up his son into being angry at him. The fact that Connor might not want to work with him any longer, and had wanted to know how long they were there so he could give him the slip simultaneously angered and saddened him. He knew that despite his better judgement, and inner morality, that he wanted to spend time with Connor, get to know who he truly is. And perhaps form a closer bond with him, the treacherous voice in the back of his mind whispered.

He also knew that he wanted his son in a way no father should ever want their progeny, and yet his body, and recently his heart, didn’t seem to listen to his brain. Unbidden, scandalous thoughts of Connor invited themselves into his psyche, Connor moaning beneath him, panting in exertion, white painting his chest and stomach, his hair splayed over his pillows. Flushing immediately, he backpedalled slightly, before making sure that he didn’t have any noticeable effects of his raunchy imaginations. And yet, beyond thoughts of pleasuring Connor and having Connor pleasure him, there were some more deep seated desires, ones of comfort and shared affection, causal touches here and there that would mean nothing to the outside world, and everything to them. Clearly, this was no longer a simple sexual infatuation, this was deeper than he had originally thought. 

Haytham closed his eyes for a second, willing for the father of understanding to give him strength to just get through this truce without either going insane or being discovered as not only a sodomite, but an incestuous one to boot. Suddenly feeling worse for wear as the impact of his… fantasies… hit him, he decided to simply not think about it for as long as possible. If Connor caught him, they’d deal with it, but otherwise he would never bring it up if possible. 

As he reached the threshold of the inn he had instructed them to meet at, he was greeted by an unusually enthusiastic Charles, and a rather exasperated Shay. Surprised at the latter’s appearance in New York so early after he had set off in the Morrigan, Haytham raised a questioning eyebrow, which was merely returned as he got nearer.

“Shay, you are back in New York early? Found what you needed? Or are you just here to sell cargo?”

“Aye sir, tracked down the thief that was draining our resources, and he won’t be a problem any longer.”

“Good, we cannot have any unnecessary wasting of supplies, not with the other rite snapping out our heels, waiting for weakness. However, this is not the place for such a conversation. Charles, I trust you have a room booked?”

Charles nearly beamed at him and confirmed, before they were heading into the inn and up the stairs. In this brief respite, Haytham pondered as to why his seneschal was acting so different than usual. Where usually he was calm and collected, with the occasional black mood, or fit of anger occurring, he was upbeat and enthusiastic. Even now, Charles was gazing at him as if he were a puppy and Haytham his owner, bearing food after being away for the day. 

“Charles, is there anything you need to add on?” That seemed to work, and a blush suffused Charles’ face as he sheepishly looked away. Interesting. 

“Ah, no Grandmaster, I was simply lost in thought was all.”

“Very well then, let us wait for the rest of the others so that we may begin a formal meeting.”

“Sir? There are a few issues with that proposal. Hickey is currently disposed with clients and information tracking in the black market and is unable to make it, and likewise the other members of our main group are currently preoccupied and were not able to make it to New York in time for this meeting.”

“So, it is just us then?”

“Yes sir.”

Haytham pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache beginning to form in his temples. Nothing ever seemed to work in his favour recently, except for perhaps Shay’s excursions and reports on finances and threats to the order. Either way, he simply could not up and seek Connor out so soon after leaving him, his pride would not allow him to do so, and he was well overdue for some time to relax and not be overly concerned about the machinations of the assassins, nor the upkeep of his rite. 

“Well, I suggest, unless one of you two have any better ideas or preconceived plans, that we simply take this rare time of ease to relax for a while before getting back to serious work.”

Charles, however, seemed sceptical.

“Sir, are you sure that we have time to relax? After all, that assassin boy has been more active as of late, and I have heard whispers of hooded figures disappearing and reappearing on the streets, as well as murmurs of a native man buying weapons and ammunition in large amounts around the docks. It seems your son is getting ready for a battle of sorts, and I do not think that we are completely ruled out as targets, despite this… truce you have with him.”

Haytham turned his attention to Charles, and could not help to be displeased of his hatred of Connor, whereas Shay merely raised an eyebrow at the other man. He had not known Charles for long, nor had he spent much time with him (and he wasn’t that inclined to start either), but he knew that this was a sore spot for both Haytham and Charles; their conflicting opinions on the current truce they held with the leftovers of the assassin order. And he also knew that this… discussion would devolve into an argument due to Charles’ temper and Haytham’s bullheadedness, not that he would ever admit to that being one of his traits. In an attempt to cool the situation before it heated up, he decided to intervene.

“While I’m not exactly trustful of the assassins because of their past actions, you have to admit there is some merit in working with them for the time being. We put our trust in them, and they do the same, and we can do much more than we would be able to do alone, plus it eliminates an admittedly growing threat in the colonies. Achilles’ brotherhood was frighteningly efficient and capable of many evils, so to have their trust is something that cannot be simply thrown to the side for the sake of paranoia.” Shay paused to judge the reactions of the other two, and their tempers had cooled significantly, and they looked interested in what he had to say. Good.

“So while it’s only sensible to maintain some wariness concerning the actions of the assassins, it won’t do to be continuously sceptical of their every action, as that could lead to them not trusting us anymore, and our truce is tenuous in the least.” Shay turned to look at Haytham, and continued. “Your son is the only reason that the assassins are considering this truce, as both you and I have seen, they are incredibly cautious around you, and glare at me every time they think I’m not looking.”

Charles looked as if he had something to say in rebuttal, but reconsidering and closed his mouth, simply nodding to what Shay had said. Haytham, too, seemed to agree, and the tension in the room that had built with the potential oncoming argument eased, the air no longer feeling heavy with emotions. However, Shay had to wonder just what was the purpose of this truce beyond tracking down Church for his betrayal. Was it that Haytham had finally reunited with his estranged son and sought comfort as well as a closer father-son bond despite their opposite sides in the assassin/templar conflict? Or perhaps a way for Haytham to reconcile with Ziio after their parting years ago? Either way, Shay wasn’t going to condemn such an alliance, nor the reasons that forged it as long as it stayed useful to the templar cause.

Meanwhile, on the way to the homestead, Connor was wondering just how he was going to break the news of him drawing a truce with the templar order to Achilles. He knew his mentor has an extraordinary dislike of the templars, his father in particular, but did not know why as the old man had not been very forthcoming in any of his reasoning behind his actions. In fact, Achilles had always seemed closed off in one way or another, whether it had been a lack of encouragement beyond being berated or rewarded for progress, or one where he seemed to shut off in conversation when Connor brought up a topic that he didn’t want to talk about. Either way, closed off or not, Achilles wouldn’t be best pleased to hear of Connor’s new allies. 

He did not have much longer to mull over the subject, as he was coming upon the burgeoning village that now surrounded the homestead. The villagers were nice to him, and offered their goods and services to him, and were generally kind and genuine people, and as such he always made sure to make them feel welcome on the homestead and asked if they needed help when they looked troubled. All in all, he felt as if he had made a family in the homesteaders that lived here, and he hoped that they felt the same. 

However, his pleasant thoughts were cut off by a sudden, heart-gripping anxiety as he walked up the front steps to Achilles’ mansion. He knew that despite their differences, Achilles’ distance, and the arguments they often had, he craved for the approval and acceptance of the man he had come to see as his mentor. And yet, even though he knew this wouldn’t go well, he did not want to give up on his father who had been absent most of his life, and an enemy for a good portion of it. He felt that beyond his… feelings for his father, that he wanted to foster a deeper connection and get to know the man better, something that inevitably would not be appreciated by Achilles.

Gazing up at the large wooden door, Connor took a few deep breaths in order to steel himself and to hopefully calm his rapidly beating heart and near pants of breath through his nose. Feeling as though he would back out if he waited any longer, Connor pushed the door open and entered the foyer. Not hearing any obvious activity, he called out for Achilles, and received answer from the mansion’s main sitting room.

He walked in, and found Achilles reading a rather large book in one of the armchairs, and cleared his throat to gain his attention.

“Yes, Connor?”

“I… I have made a decision that concerns the brotherhood and how we operate, and I would like your opinion…” At this remark, Connor ducked his head, already afraid of Achilles’ reaction as he knew the man did not think him the best leader for the assassins. In Achilles’ eyes he was too headstrong, too quick to anger, and too fast to make a decision.

At Connor’s proclamation, Achilles slowly lowered his book and looked at the boy, noticing his hesitant behaviour.

“Carry on, so I can judge whether you’ve made a good decision for the brotherhood, I trust that it is nothing too rash?”

Connor inhaled deeply, his stomach fluttered with nervous butterflies, and his palms became sweaty at the thought of Achilles’ reaction. “I have made a temporary truce with my father, and by extension the rest of the colonial templar rite while I search for Church and the missing supplies. My father is looking for Church as well, as he has betrayed them and fled. We have worked together, and we work efficiently, as we are to set out to look for Church once more in a couple of days.”

Achilles’ face was blank, his expression nor eyes telling Connor anything about what he thought of the situation. The fluttering in his stomach increased. This couldn’t be good.

“Tell me Connor, are you more of a naive fool than I originally took you for when you showed up at my door?”

“What? No!”

“Then explain why you have decided to throw your lot in with the templars in a mission that is related to the freedom the assassins seek to gain in the colonies. They want control, and are not afraid to switch to the winning side should they find themselves at a disadvantage. They cannot be trusted Connor, and you are a fool for believing they can be.”

“But my father-”

“Is a scheming man with ulterior motives in this ‘alliance’ he has forged with you. Do not let your sentimentality cloud your judgement of Haytham Kenway, he is not, nor will he ever be a good man. You are blind to his machinations because he is your father. He is the enemy, and it would serve you well to remember that.”

“But-”

“No more Connor, I will not hear of it. Do not speak to me again unless it is to tell me of the termination of this truce, or to apologise for going against the true beliefs of the assassin brotherhood. Templars are not to be trusted, end of discussion.”

Connor saw red, but knew it would not serve him any good to escalate this argument any further than it had climbed on its own. Deep down, he knew that Achilles’ was being perfectly logical, there was no reason at all for him to trust his father other than hope that he was a decent man despite the facts that he had been presented with. His longing for Haytham, both in a familial and romantic sense, made him wish beyond all logic that he and his father could have a happy and functional relationship, despite their opposing ideals and unfortunate blood relation.

Glaring harshly at Achilles, he turned and stomped out of the mansion, making sure he slammed the door extra loud to enunciate his feelings on Achilles’ distrust of his father. Glancing up at the sky as he walked down the steps onto the main trail, he decided that he would pay a visit to the inn and stay the night, before departing for New York once again in the morning. He was sure his father wouldn’t be too troubled by his disappearing act.

Having stayed and talked with the owners of the inn before insisting he pay for a room despite their offers of free lodging for the things he had done for them, Connor settled into the warm bed in his given room, not wanting to spend time near Achilles at the moment. His mind whirred, stirring up scenarios of what could happen to this truce, what his father would do, what the rest of the templars would do, and importantly, how his assassins would take the news that they needed to lay off on all incursions onto templar properties and attacks on their agents.

Eventually, his eyelids drooped and his consciousness slipped into the realm of sleep, the last thought on his mind being of Haytham, of his hair, his skin, his clothes, and how gracefully he moved. That night he would squirm in his sleep, and eventually end up spoiling the sheets, a quiet moan slipping past his lips as he did so, his father’s name carrying no further than the end of his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the major lack of conhayth interactions this chap, but i felt that i needed to include some other characters and attempt to get the ball rolling on this plot that im thinking up as i go along, but i promise there will be more lovely conhayths next chapter! and i am sososososo sorry for not updating this for ages!!! college and real life have been kicking my ass and between mock exams, essays, and family probs ive had to put this fic on the back burner but updates should be coming on a more regular schedule now (i hope!)


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